


late at night, when i need you

by allmywill



Category: Duran Duran, The Power Station (Supergroup)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Crying, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, Hangover, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmywill/pseuds/allmywill
Summary: It’s just the two of them and the cool night air. John has something to say and not even the drink can make it easier.
Relationships: Andy Taylor/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from Danger by The Motels!

_New York City, 1985_

By the second bar of the night, John finds himself one step away from wasted. It’s his new norm, now that he and Andy have been working on the Power Station record with all the guys. It’s definitely the breather they needed from Duran, but in his current state, John wonders if it’s really a break.

He’s breaking.

He starts to stumble as he and Andy walk down slim alleyways, weaving around the city with no real destination in mind now. The drink is really starting to kick in and he’s unaware of it until it’s already too late. He falls behind, and Andy turns around and notices how his gangly limbs are working against him.

“Hey, hey,” Andy rushes to his side, significantly less intoxicated than he is. He snakes an arm around John’s waist in an attempt to carry some of his weight for him.

If he wasn’t such a mess, he wouldn’t melt into his touch, or at least he wouldn’t make it so obvious. “Ands?” he slurs the nickname, leaning on him more.

Andy takes the hand he has draped over his shoulder with his free hand, nearly getting crushed by John. “Yeah?”

John stops walking, looking down at him with the dopiest grin on his face. “Have I ever told you you’re my... _best_ friend?”

“All the time, Johnny,” Andy chuckles. “Why don’t you sit for a second, yeah?”

He lowers John to the ground, up against the old painted brick of a building that helps create the alleyway they’re in. He’s surprised when John doesn’t let go, effectively pulling him down with him.

John giggles at this, then hiccups. He reaches out and pokes Andy’s cheek. He laughs harder. “Cute,” he says, satisfied with himself.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, _you_.” Even in John’s intoxicated state, it’s quite obvious. He vaguely gestures to the dimly lit space around them. “Who else?”

Andy’s blush is eased by the slight breeze and he’s thankful. “You are so fuckin’ trashed.”

It’s just the two of them and the cool night air. John has something to say and not even the drink can make it easier. He’s a little dizzy as he looks at Andy, his dark hair slightly astray and falling in his eyes. He meant what he said, though he’s not very believable when he’s too drunk to walk straight.

“I... _am_ trashed,” John realizes out loud. “But I-” he stops himself, gazing into Andy’s eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Andy asks, placing a hand on top of John’s. He knows he may not get a straight answer, given just how drunk John is right now, but he wonders what he’ll say.

John grabs his hand, his grip a bit too tight as his mouth opens and closes, searching his compromised mind for words that make any sort of sense. “I want coke... c’mon Ands, let’s go-”

Andy’s shaking his head as soon as the mention of cocaine leaves his mouth. “No, we’re not doing that. Not tonight. You’re a mess, look at you.”

John groans. “Then,” he starts, getting angry, “I’ll g-go by myself.” He tries to stand, but Andy tugs him back down.

“No, John. I’m not letting you roam the fuckin’ streets by yourself. Are you kidding?” Andy’s face is close to John’s now, so close he can smell the alcohol on his breath.

John looks at his lips, his head a whirl of terrible ideas. His hunger grows as he recalls what else he wants. All he’s been thinking about lately is those lips on his, how they’d feel moving in synch with his own. He stares long and hard.

Andy doesn’t know what to say next, what to _do_ next. John is right there, but he’s not at the same time; there’s a good chance he won’t remember any of this come morning.

Of course it’s John who closes the distance between them. The kiss is sloppy. Andy doesn’t kiss back—for fear of taking advantage of his best friend. But even though he doesn’t, he still feels his palms grow clammy and his heartbeat pound harder in his chest. John’s mouth molds perfectly onto his, his hot breath leaving behind the ghost of a bitter taste.

Andy has to push him away, a gentle hand on his chest to put the space back between them again. John whimpers at the loss of his lips.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel.” Andy untangles himself from John and stands up, holding out a hand. “We’ve had enough fun for the night, don’t ya think?”

John groans as he’s hauled up to his feet. “But I just... wanna _kiss_ you.”

Andy slips an arm around him again, and he successfully gets the two of them out of the alleyway and back into the street. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

John says nothing, his mind foggy. Letting Andy get him into a taxi, he sits and looks out the window. Delirious at best, he touches his own lips, smiling to himself.

Maybe he’ll remember, maybe he won’t.


	2. Chapter 2

John wakes tangled in pristine white sheets with a pounding in his head and a queasy feeling in his stomach. He feels around for another body, but his hand comes up empty. He frowns and squints at the light pouring through the open blinds. He’s starting to think that maybe it’s a good thing he’s alone, that his bed is only occupied by himself and he’s fully clothed.

Until Andy walks in.

“Good, you’re up.” He walks over to the bed with a glass of water in hand. “Sit up so you can take these,” he says, dropping two small pills in John’s hand.

John sighs and complies, taking the glass as he knocks back both pills at the same time. He takes a long drink and gives the empty glass back to Andy, who sets it beside the telephone on the nightstand.

“God, what did I do last night?” John holds his head, hoping the medicine will kick in soon and stop this awful pain.

Andy makes him scoot over so he can sit next to him. “I think the better question would be what _didn’t_ you do last night?”

John panics inside; not remembering is the worst part of this destructive routine he’s creating. He could have done anything. “Fuck, don’t tell me.”

“Tell me what you remember and I’ll fill you in.” Andy braces himself for whatever is to come, not quite scared, but surely a bit nervous.

“I remember...” John trails off, thinking out loud. He touches his lips out of habit, then looks at Andy. It’s on the tip of his tongue, so close yet he can’t access it, and it drives him _crazy_. “The first bar, a girl came up to me and tried to stick her tongue down my throat. I pushed her away, we left.”

“Anything else?”

John squints. Andy’s looking at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher. He half smiles and he doesn’t know what to do with himself, hasn’t got the slightest clue what to say when he’s looking at him like that.

“Second bar. I—” John’s eyes widen, he freezes and looks away. What he feared is becoming his reality. _No, no, no!_ “I kissed a guy, that’s why we left the second bar! You didn’t want anybody to see. Fuck, I bet the paps were _everywhere_.”

“No, Johnny.” Andy shakes his head, relieved yet uneasy still.

“What d-”

“You’re half right, I should say,” Andy tells him, putting a hand on his thigh overtop the duvet.

John pushes his thigh against his hand, wanting more of his touch. Maybe it’s just the hangover talking, or maybe it’s something more, something that’s been prevalent in his mind for the past few weeks they’ve spent together in the studio. It’s getting more clear...

Andy bites his lip, watching John’s face. “Can I show you? What you did?”

John swallows and nods. He feels Andy cup his face and lean in, effectively taking his breath away. Their lips meet and though it’s not the first time, it may as well be. He melts against him as Andy’s hands fall to his body, traveling under the sheets and yanking him closer as their lips move, synchronized.

They part with a gasp from John. Andy slides underneath the sheets, their body heat growing intense now that they can’t keep their hands off each other.

“Holy fuck,” John utters, still trying to catch his breath. “I kissed you last night?”

Andy smiles, pulling him closer, his hands gripping his waist. “You did.”

John leans forward, resting his head on Andy’s chest. He wanted this, dreamed of this, and now it’s happening. It’s almost too good to be true. Almost. “What did you do?”

“Hauled your wrecked ass back here,” Andy replies, recalling their night out together and how it ended with a messy kiss. “You were a disaster.”

John’s headache reminds him this much. “Yeah, guess I was.”

Andy starts running his fingers through his hair. He could really use a shower, but it can wait a few more moments.

“Thanks for taking care of me. God knows I’m not a pretty sight when I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Shut it,” Andy laughs. “If I don’t take care of you, who will?”

“I hate that you’re always right.”

“I just know you too well, that’s all.”

John moves enough to press his lips to his neck, the feeling of his skin under them enough to make him go wild. “Could you maybe help me forget this headache until those pills kick in?” he asks, before reattaching his mouth to his neck, sucking on the spot this time.

Andy can’t say no, not that he’d want to. “I’ll make you forget your name, if you’d like.”

John moans against him. “ _Please._ ”


	3. Chapter 3

Andy moves to kiss him again, hungry for more of his lips, for more of him altogether. John sighs into his mouth, hot breath fanning over his face as they make out lazily. He ruts against the guitarist, searching for any kind of friction; his raging hard on driving him further.

John pulls away to pull his shirt over his head. Andy lets a hand drift down his now bare chest, a teasing touch. He moans softly, pushing against Andy’s hand, wanting more of whatever he’s willing to give him.

Andy races to match him, his own shirt meeting the floor beside the bed. He clutches John’s waist again and throws a leg over his hip. “Tell me what you want,” Andy says, their still clothed cocks brushing. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

There’s so much heat between them now that John feels hot all over, almost panting. “Wanna suck you off,” he breathes into his ear. “Fuck my mouth, make me yours.”

“Dirty fuckin’ mouth,” Andy groans, “I love it.”

John untangles himself from him and sinks lower, tugging Andy’s boxers down his legs promptly. He takes his cock into his mouth, Andy’s fingers in his hair as soon as his lips make contact.

“ _Fuck,_ Johnny.” Andy revels in the feeling of his mouth, the perfect wet heat taking him by surprise. He finds himself wondering where, when, and how John got this good; seemingly it’s not his first time doing this.

John teases the backs of his thighs with the pads of his fingertips, the callouses tickling his skin. He feels Andy buck, thrusting into his mouth. He takes it without a sound.

Andy presses his face against the pillow, the pleasure almost too much to handle. He thrusts again, John’s fingers now digging into his thighs, clutching for all he’s worth. “How many guys have been in my place right now?” he asks, knowing full well that John can’t answer. “Always knew you went both ways.”

He tries his best not to smile at that last one. He’s never been secretive about it, not with the band, at least.

“Gonna come in that pretty mouth of yours,” Andy grunts, tugging his hair at the roots. He thrusts once more before he’s releasing with a cry, John swallowing every last drop.

John pulls off him, meeting him back on the pillow again. His wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face.

Andy grabs his wrist. “C’mon, I’ll return the favor. In the shower.”

John nods, thinking that yeah, he probably could use that. The shower, too. “Fuck yes.”

Everything happens so fast that it’s a blur, but before long, they’re both in the bathroom, John pulling his own boxers down his long legs. Andy wastes no time turning on the water, warming it up so steam fills the space around them. John tugs Andy into the shower, slamming the glass door shut behind them.

Andy’s on him as soon as they’re under the spray, water cascading around them as his lips suck on the skin under John’s collarbone. He takes ahold of his cock, pumping him as he would himself.

John rakes his blunt nails down his back, long and slow. His hair clumps together and drips water in his eyes. He closes them as he inches towards his climax, Andy’s skilled fingers helping him along.

“ _Close._ ” John can barely stand to hold on anymore, the intense pleasure sending him over the edge. He comes in Andy’s hand, holding onto him as the hot water washes the two of them clean.

Andy brushes his hair out of his eyes. John opens his own to see his face, and he can’t help but lean forward and smash their lips together again. The kiss is brief, for Andy breaks it off before it gets heated.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, his fingers running through his dirty wet hair. “Then more of that, yeah?”

John smiles. He’s got Andy wrapped around his nimble fingers, it seems. “Okay.”

It’s quite rare to see this side of Andy, his tentative, sweet side. John can’t help but believe it’s especially for him as he washes all the product out of his hair, his hands every bit gentle as he touches him. He takes his time, washing his body with great care too.

His headache is gone, finally. John is in a sort of relaxed trance, his breath evening out. All he can think is one singular thought: _I want him, I want him._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry in advance. this is SAD.

_London, 1986_

Notorious _recording session_

“One last time before you go. Please, Andy.”

John feels his eyes sting, the telltale sign that he’ll burst into tears if Andy walks away now. They’re outside of the studio Andy stormed out of during a session, declaring that he’s quitting. He’s hoping, _praying_ that the look on his face will make him want to sleep with him, just one last time before he leaves the band completely, before he loses him forever.

He never stoops this low, never begs anyone to stay. He usually lets go. He usually sets them free. But this isn’t just anyone, this is Andy. _His_ Andy. Though he’s starting to realize that he was never really just his, that maybe he’s been stringing himself along the whole time. It hurts, still.

It hurts because he got too invested. It hurts because he can’t let go. It hurts because he fell in love.

Andy looks back at him, a sad gleam in his eyes, too. “I gotta go, Johnny. She’s waiting. I can’t...”

“Just one last time. Then it’s over for good.” John takes a deep breath, his lungs burning. He needs a cigarette. He needs coke. Mostly, he needs Andy. “I won’t ask you again.”

Andy turns back around, reluctant still. He takes a few slow steps towards John, walking on eggshells. Everything depends on this moment, everything they were and everything they will be. “We’ll go to yours. Don’t say a word to anyone, not even Nick. Understood?”

John’s heart is still breaking in his chest, at least it’s not shattered though. Yet. “Yes,” he replies meekly.

———

Their last time is like their first in many ways. It makes John’s head spin just thinking about it, makes him want to try and build a time machine to get him back to last year, when things were different for the two of them, before things fell apart at the seams.

Andy takes his time, his every touch gentle and full of care. His voice is soft, his eyes glued to the bassist splayed before him, for him. He leaves marks where they won’t be seen on John, places where they’ll be easily hidden by clothing. John doesn’t leave any on him. Not a single freckle is out of place.

John keens as Andy’s fingers fill him, wishing this could last, wishing it wouldn’t be the last. He savors the moments as they drag by as much as he can.

When Andy slowly inches in, he feels a tear slip down his cheek. Andy wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. John swears he sees a wet glimmer in his eyes. Maybe it’s just his own tears, blinding him, fooling him.

He starts to thrust, deep and slow. John takes the opportunity to touch his skin, his hands gliding along his shoulders, pulling him closer. He’s pleasantly surprised when Andy’s lips meet his own. He kisses back as Andy fucks him, drinking him in as much as he can. It’s his last chance to do so.

Their moans fill his bedroom for the last time. He tries not to think about it as he feels his orgasm building, he instead focuses on the pleasure, on Andy. He doesn’t want to let him go after this, despite what he said earlier. He wants him to stay. He wants him.

But he can’t have him, not anymore. He has a wife waiting at home, a woman who loves him, a woman whose promise he’s breaking right now.

John’s crying again, the tears slipping down his cheeks without his consent. He can’t stop them no matter how much he tries. He’s getting closer, which only means one thing. It means Andy will go, leaving him behind.

He comes and his heart breaks a little more. Andy finishes moments later, gripping his hips tightly. It helps ground John while he starts to fall apart underneath him. He never did learn how to say goodbye the right way. He’s paying for it now.

Their last kiss tastes of salty tears. Andy pulls out and climbs off him, and it’s over. John just watches him clean himself up and put his clothes back on, the tears flowing freely. His cheeks sting. His chest aches. He needs coke.

He needs Andy.

Before he turns to leave, John catches sight of his face. He’s wiping away his own tears.

He needs John, but it’s not meant to be. It never was.


End file.
